“In the hut, on a nail behind the door, is a piece of cord.  Fetch it!”

She fetched it.

“Tie his hands behind his back.  Tie ’em good and firm.  Take your time.  Make a job of it.  That’s it.  Now, then, hitch the loose ends round that scrub-oak.  That’s right.  Now go into the house, and slip into your overalls.  We’ll be shifting camp in less than half-an-hour.”

“Dad!”

“Well?”

“It’s true, then?”

He smiled grimly.

“Yes—­it’s true.  Get a move on you.  Mr. Wells and I are going to have a little talk.”

She walked slowly towards the hut; then suddenly she turned, flying back on nimble feet.

“Dad,” she said quickly.  “Mr. Wells will help us, if you ask him, if—­ if I ask him.”  She approached Jeff.  “I told you that your duty was to the State,” she continued, “but I take that back.  Do you hear?  Save Dad!  I don’t care what he has done to others, he’s always been so good to me.  And if you will help us, I—­I——­”

“Sadie!”

Sillett’s voice was very harsh.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Leave us.  Not a word, child.  Go!”

She moved away, the tears trickling from her eyes.  Nothing was said till the door had closed behind her; then Jeff broke the silence, in a voice with a strange rasp to it.

“I will help you, Mr. Sillett.”

Sillett thrust his weapon into his pocket, and came close to the speaker, eyeing him attentively.  An impartial observer might have pronounced the younger man to be the defaulter.

“You’ll help me—­eh?  How?”

“I can get you safe into Mexico.”

“Can you?”

“At a word from me the sheriff’ll be huntin’ somewheres else.  See?”

“I see.”

“Don’t think you’ll squeeze through without me.  I reckon you’ve a springboard and a buckskin in the barn over there?”

“Maybe.”

“The officers are looking for that buckskin in every little burg between Santa Cruz and San Diego.  You can’t pack your grub and blankets a-foot.  I can supply everything.  Nobody’ll suspect me.”

“Why not?”

“Because—­because o’ my record.”

“Oh.  It’s a clean one, is it?”

“It is that.”

“Sadie cottoned to you right away.  Because she sized you up as straight, I surmise.”

The speaker smoked silently for a moment; Jeff held his tongue, but his cheeks were red and hot.

“Sadie may sour on me now,” said the father heavily.

“Sour on you, Mr. Sillett!  Not she.”

Sillett frowned.  Then he opened a knife and slashed the cord which bound Jeff.  The fingers which held his pipe were trembling.

“You’ll let me fix things?” said Jeff, in a low voice.

“And then—­suppose—­suppose Sadie soured on you?”

“I’ll risk that,” Jeff answered slowly.  “She’s more’n likely to.”

“Um.”